


Come What May

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Moulin Rouge AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which aspiring writer Lance Hunter finds himself living across from the Moulin Rouge and ends up falling madly in love with the star girl - Bobbi Morse, the Mockingbird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nature Boy + The Sound of Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leofjtz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leofjtz/gifts), [anneweaver (camseydavis)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anneweaver+%28camseydavis%29).



_The greatest thing_  
You'll ever learn  
Is just to love  
And be loved  
In return. 

 

* * *

 

 

_**1900** -_

His fingers touched against the keys, little inspiration coming to him now. On his stained oak desk five nearly-empty bottles of hard liquor sat (one of them labeled with the now-familiar to him Green Fairy), waiting for him to finish them off. A breeze came in through the open window, causing the papers he had already pinned to the wall to flap with the wind. He turned his head to look out the window eyes finding the familiar red windmill - the Moulin Rouge.

The memories of her passed through him like the strong wind that came through his window, dizzying him as he took his hands away from the keys. He placed his head in his hands, remembering how he held her that fatal night, how his face was the last her eyes had seen in life. He remembered how the only woman he had ever come to love had died in his arms.

He never left the city, he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. So he remained in the dilapidated hotel room, where a hole still remained in the ceiling, placed there by the Bohemians a year ago. Every night he could hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from the Moulin Rouge. Every night he would take another sip of his liquor and sit at his typewriter, searching for the words to tell a story.

He wanted to tell their story; a story about freedom, beauty, and truth.

But above all else, their story was one about love.

 

* * *

 

 

_**1899 -** a year earlier_

 

He sat alone in the dusty room, his fingers punching hard against the buttons on the typewriter. The piece was less than stellar, but inspiration was failing him. In his poetry he wanted to tell stories about freedom, about truth, about things he had never truly experienced before in his life. But above all, the poet wanted to tell stories about love, how important it was to love and to be loved in return. Lance Hunter, the man at the typewriter, reached for his glass of whiskey and promptly finished it off before returning to the draft. Minutes later he stood up and walked about the room, listening as the floorboards creaked from underneath him.

The room was utter shit.

Curtains did not cover the open window that overlooked the Parisian street (though this was not the area of Paris parents dreamed about taking their children to) and dust covered the room from the chipping ceiling to its wooden floorboards. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, a stern English accent muttering about the life choices Lance had made up until this point.

His father’s voice continued to fill his thoughts until there came a crash from the floor above, a crash with so much force that put a hole in Lance’s own ceiling. From that hole a man fell, a man heavily caked in makeup. He was unconscious, Lance observed as he further inspected him. Three other heads poked through the hole, mumbling their apologies. All were dressed similarly to the man on the ground.

They were rehearsing a play, a play so grand they called it _Spectacular, Spectacular!_

The man who fell through the ceiling was a narcoleptic American named Grant Ward. He was still unconscious when one of the other men from above, the ringleader of the Bohemian gang (they called themselves Bohemians, which Lance thought was odd), came down to collect him. He introduced himself as Fitz, giving no further introduction as he helped Grant up (who was just now waking). As they walked out of the room, another of the group spoke from the hole in the ceiling, “Are you a writer?” She asked.

Lance nodded.

Fitz had rejoined his comrades and the three (the American had fallen asleep again) exchanged excited glances towards one another.

“Do you believe in freedom?”

Lance nodded again.

“Truth?”

Again, he gave a nod.

“Beauty?”

He was slower to nod this time, but still did so.

“Love?”

“Above all things, I believe in love.” Of course, Lance Hunter had never actually been in love before in his life; he was (simply put) a hopeless romantic.

The group invited him to come upstairs, they were having trouble with their current scene and asked for his assistance. He was intrigued  by them (though still a bit cautious) and agreed to it, leaving his room for theirs. When he walked through the open door, he was taken aback. Before him was a half-finished set that appeared to be a model of the Swiss Alps. In the corner, the only woman worked on her piece, receiving strong criticism from Fitz as she tried to sing about the hills.

“Jem - Jemma, stop.”

She began to argue back, saying that it was his fault the lyrics he had written for her were to the point where not even _“the_ _great Bobbi Morse”_ could make them sound appealing. Lance continued to walk around the fake mountain range as the others in the group began to join the argument. Each came up with their own version of the song that was supposed to be sung, each thinking theirs was superior to the rest.

“The hills are not -”

“In the morning the hills -”

Lance had had enough of the different variations of lyrics about the hills, calling out to them in unexpected song, “ _The hills are alive, with the sound of music._ ”

Heads turned, smiles appeared on their faces; even Grant had woken up and gave his applause before falling back onto the bed. The ones that remained awake gathered around Lance, repeating what he had said. Jemma tried out the line and announced that it was perfect. Fitz was beside himself, saying that _Spectacular, Spectacular!_ was finally ready to seek the attention of Bobbi Morse, the queen of the Moulin Rouge.

The group got together and pressed their heads against one anothers in a circle that excluded Lance. He stood by, still not entirely sure as to what was going on, and took note of the room. It was not much better than his, though they had a window with curtains. His viewing of the room was interrupted when Jemma put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him into the circle where there was now an opening for him.

“Tonight we will pass you off as a famous playwright that is in search of a lead for _Spectacular, Spectacular!_ ” Jemma began to tell him, a smile stretching wide across her face colored with various shades of eyeshadow, lipstick, and blush. “Obviously Bobbi will be this lead. Fitz will talk to Mackenzie, the man in charge, when we arrive and get you an appointment with her after the show.” She clasped her hands together in excitement when they broke from the circle.

“And this will work?” Lance raised a brow, still a bit skeptical of the people before him.

“‘Course it will work.” Fitz replied, "Why wouldn't it?"

Lance put a hand to his forehead and began to rub at the forming headache, thinking over a hundred different reasons why their plan _wouldn't_ work. Though, he never expressed any of these out loud and soon a suit was being tossed his way and he was instructed to freshen himself up.

They would leave for the Moulin Rouge in ten minutes, giving them enough time to talk the plan over to Mackenzie before Bobbi was to perform.

Changed, Lance rejoined the Bohemian group that had too changed into formal attire (they had even rid themselves of their outlandish makeup and jewels). Fitz opened a bottle of a liquor Lance had never seen before, and offered it up for those in the room to drink from. With alcohol settling in their systems, they left the hotel room and made their way outside, ready to enter the Moulin Rouge in search of their prize.


	2. Sparkling Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter: the mockingbird

Inside the Moulin Rouge, Lance and the group that now consisted of only Fitz, Simmons, and another American man named Antoine Triplett were given seats up on the balcony. Below them, the show was already underway.

Colors flashed in blurs as women lifted their skirts in rhythm with the music. The orchestra was playing an upbeat song Lance had not heard before, he did his best to simply nod his head and force a smile. His eyes left the dancing women when Fitz pulled him in close to reestablish the plan.

"I'm going to find Mack now. Act, uh, normal." Fitz told him before walking off and leaving him alone with Jemma and Triplett.

"These men are animals," Jemma commented, watching the scene from below. While the women danced, men in suits neared them, dopey grins on their faces that only grew larger each time one of the performers lifted their skirts a bit higher.

Beside the group of three, a curtain divided them from the Duke. No first name or last name was needed, he was simply the Duke. Mackenzie was talking with him, telling him that, after the show, he would be given a private session with Bobbi. Fitz, who stood by while this conversation took place, walked back to his group and announced that everything was set.

"You will be given a private session with her after the show!"

The evening continued; the girls danced and the men swooned. The room soon quieted, however, when the women left the floor and the owner of the Moulin Rouge, Mr. Alphonso Mackenzie, began to speak in a slow, almost seductive tone. He welcomed the Mockingbird with his words, “And if that mockingbird don’t sing..”

On that line, she descended on a large swing, her dress sparkling against the lights that were placed on her. “Mack’s gonna buy you a diamond ring,” she winked at him - all part of the performance - before beginning her song.

She began with a soft voice and low tone that matched the sounds from the orchestra; once the beat of the song began to pick itself up, so did her tone. She swung about the room, receiving cheers from the men dressed in suits as she performed.

Lance found her to be quite beautiful, but wouldn't go as far as some of the men down below (the men who reached for any part of her that they could get their hands on). He was disturbed by the manner in which they treated her.

“Come and get me, boys.” She called out, gesturing for the men to dance with her.

He heard her call out to Mackenzie, evidently they had a scene together. It began with them dancing together on a podium, moving around one another in a circle; Bobbi searched for the Duke in between her lines. Then came time for them to go under.

The other showgirls brought up fabrics in varying colors to hold up around the two, each looking at the crowd with expressions that said something scandalous was going on. Behind the walls of fabric, Bobbi hastily changed into her finale dress. Meanwhile, Mack told her the plan for her evening with the Duke as he shook off his jacket. She was thrilled, a smile lighting up her face; this was her chance to become a real actress.

With a change in the music they popped back out, taking a look around and putting on a show for the audience. As part of the act, Mack was missing his jacket and the two went back down.

“Which one was he?”

“The one with the white handkerchief.”

At the time they had looked up, the Duke had been blocked from Bobbi’s vision (thanks to Fitz); the only man she saw holding a white handkerchief was Lance. Fitz had stolen one to give to him for that purpose alone. As far as Bobbi Morse was concerned, Lance Hunter was the Duke.

When she made her reappearance, she delivered her final lines before ascending the stairs in search of her Duke. Lance sat with a perplexed expression on his face when she addressed him as such. Bobbi turned towards the crowd of men and women alike, pouting, when Lance didn’t give a response. She shook the ends of her pink dress, moving in closer to him before saying, “Let’s dance,” and pulling at his suit jacket.

The music started up as she spun herself around, and soon they were back on the main floor. Other couples had gathered to dance a dance Lance had never seen, nor heard of before. As they danced, a conversation was struck up between them.

“I’m grateful you took such an interest in our little show.”

“It sounded exciting,” he almost had to yell to be heard, “I was delighted to get involved.”

“Really?”

“Assuming you like what I do, of course.”

Conversation continued, Lance told her he was delighted Fitz had scheduled for them to do it in private - their poetry reading. She announced to him that she loved poetry after supper, a grin wide across her lips.

The tempo of the song became more fast-paced as it reached it’s end, and soon Bobbi was telling him to throw off his hat. As hats were thrown in the air, she was placed back on her swing that was lifted above the crowd.

“Diamonds,” she sang, repeating the word once more as she reprised her earlier song.

"Diamonds are a girl's best -"

Her final line was never delivered. Struggling to find a breath, her head tipped back and soon she was falling from the swing, unconscious. One of her fellow performers caught her and gasps sounded all around.

She was carried off by the man who had caught her, taken backstage where she was looked after by a close friend, Isabelle Hartley. She had come to France with Bobbi to get her settled into the city, and ended up staying by her friend's side.

Back on the main floor, Mack was saying that they had scared the Mockingbird away before disappearing to check on her. "Bobbi?"

Hartley waved a hand away, the girl was still unconscious. They had set her on a small sofa in the backstage area. Mack announced he had to keep the show going and promptly left to start up a more upbeat tune for the girls to dance to - the can can.

It took nearly until the end of the song, but Bobbi gave a cough, a bit of blood coming from her mouth as she did so. Hartley was at her side with a handkerchief, wiping away at the blood and urging her to take some water.

"Are they mad?" Bobbi asked in between sips from a small cup.

"Mack handled everything."

They didn't discuss it further, and Bobbi stood herself up. Hartley urged her to lay back down but the girl dismissed it. Bobbi walked around the room before she sat herself at the vanity, looking herself over in the mirror. She appeared pale, tired even, and began to touch up her makeup. She wanted to look her best for the Duke; he was her chance to put behind these silly shows and become a real actress.

"One day I'll get away from here," she told Hartley, applying a bit of powder to each of her cheeks. "One day I'll be an actual actress, not just some showgirl."

Beside her vanity a birdcage sat, two little sparrows resting on a branch inside. Neither bird had been given a name, they were nothing more than a lively decoration to entertain the performers when they came backstage. Bobbi saw a bit of herself in the sparrows (it was only coincidence that her nickname came from a species of bird). She was nothing more than a decoration, a plaything for men and women alike. Even her name, Barbara Morse, was lost to them; to them she was the Mockingbird, Mack’s star girl.

Placing her hand on the latch of the cage, she undid it, opening the door for the sparrows. This went unnoticed by Hartley, who was talking to one of the girls at the other end of the room. Tentatively, the two bird inched closer to the opening until, one after the other, they began to fly about the room.

"One day it will be my turn," Bobbi said as she stood up from the vanity. Few of the girls in the room began to notice the birds flying around, Bobbi took that as her cue to leave.

With a deep breath, she announced to Hartley that she was going to change and walk to the place where she was to meet the Duke - inside of the elephant behind the Moulin Rouge.

"Good luck," Hartley told her, offering to walk with her to the costumes and then to the elephant.

Bobbi shook her head, "Thanks for the offer, Iz. I'm going to handle this one on my own."

She left her friend, mentally preparing herself for what the rest of the evening would bring.


	3. Your Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mixed messages and a spectacular idea.

He stood inside of the elephant, looking over the streets below. His hands fiddled with his hat held behind his back, showing a slight tremor as he did so. He was nervous. He knew what he was going to say to her, that part did not bother him. What worried him was whether or not Bobbi would appreciate the words he was going to speak to her.

He didn’t hear her come in, not picking up on her presence until her slow, seductive tone spoke to him. “This is a wonderful place for a poetry reading, don’t you think?”

His eyes found her; she was standing there - now changed - in a black corset-like outfit with a nearly transparent robe of the same shade and stockings that came to her thighs. He thought his eyes were going to fall out of his skull. He knew she had just said something else, but whatever words slipped off of her tongue were not comprehended by Lance. He had never been more nervous in his entire life.

When he found the words to reply to her, it was nothing more than a breathy _yes_.

(Outside, Fitz and his gang climbed the side of the elephant in an attempt to spy on their new comrade.)

She offered him something to eat, walking over to the cart of fruits and other delectable items. Then picking up a bottle of champagne, she asked if he wanted something to drink as well.

“I’d rather just - uh - get it over and done with,” he didn’t want to come out and say that seeing her in such a manner was keeping him on edge. His nerves had escalated considerably since she had entered the room.

She seemed surprised, if not angered, by his request. Sticking the champagne back in the bucket of ice with some force, she gave an exasperated _o_ _h_ before trying to regain her act. Turning to face Lance, she rose a brow to him, saying “Very well,” in the same, seductive tone as before. She took slow steps towards the bed, spreading herself across it and telling Lance to come over. Personally, she knew the act was pure folly, but she knew it would be worth it when the Duke was signing her to a major film.

“I’d prefer to do it standing?” He almost phrased it like a question, as if it were odd for him to recite poetry so close to the unfamiliar woman on the bed shaped like a heart. When she made a move to get up, he assured her that she could remain on the bed, that what he did was quite modern and could become quite long. However, he said that if she were open, she might come to enjoy it.

She did her best to keep composure, “I’m sure I will.”

He took a few steps away from her, moving closer to the cart of fruit he had previously refused. When he went to speak, it was as if he had forgotten how to form coherent sentences. His words were messy and he had to keep stopping to think of the next word, syllable even. After the third line, he could hear her making sounds from the bed, moans. This caught him completely off guard and he began to go through simple vocal exercises with his back turned to her.

Growing tired, she sat herself up and asked if everything was alright. He dismissed this, saying it sometimes took time before inspiration came to him.

Everything that happened after came as a blur to him. Bobbi had taken herself off of the bed and had told him that she would inspire him. Soon he was on the bed and she was telling him that they were to make love.

Lance thought this was strictly a poetry reading. Bobbi thought she was seducing a Duke.

Her hands tore at his waistcoat, his blouse, even moved as far down as his trousers. Allthewhile he kept a bewildered expression on his face; this evening was not going the way he had expected. For separate reasons, Bobbi felt the same.

Fitz, who was hanging down the side of the elephant to check up on things, announced to the group that Lance had a _big talent_.

That was when Lance moved out from underneath Bobbi and off of the bed. “This feeling inside me is a - a little funny,” he searched in vain for the words to complete his poetry. He knew those weren’t the right words, and tried again. “It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside..”

Bobbi too had gotten off the bed, moving towards him on her hands and knees, announcing for him to keep speaking to her. He lost her after roughly seven lines; she rolled about in a large red blanket speaking words Lance did not care to comprehend. She was chanting to him when he turned away from her, carrying a tune in a loud voice.

“ _My gift is my song_ -”

She ceased whatever act she had built up, looking on the man she believed to be the Duke with new eyes.

“- _and this one’s for you_.”

As he presented himself to her, the character she had created for the evening began to fade. She watched him with a new light in her eyes and her lips formed into a genuine smile. He felt as if the entirety of Paris had lit itself up for the pair of them, continuing his words as she walked over to him.

It was like they were locked in some sort of dance, sailing high above the clouds. They reached higher than the Eiffel Tower, he twirling her to an imaginary beat. After the moment had passed, they remained close, her lips almost to his.

“I can’t believe it,” she said to him, her tone breathy, “I’m in love with a young, handsome, talented Duke.”

He laughed, the smile still wearing on his face, “Duke?”

“Not that the title’s important.” She tossed her head back, eyes closed.

“I’m not a Duke.”

When he said to her that he was a writer, she pushed herself away, no longer wanting to be locked in the embrace. Fitz was hanging down at this time, both Bobbi and Lance catching sight of him. Bobbi realized the mistake she had made.

It was not the first time Fitz had sent forth a charming, new writer to try to win Bobbi over. She was overwhelmed, announcing that she was going to kill Fitz. Walking to the door, she found Mack waiting with the real Duke and promptly shut the door.

“The Duke.” She cried.

“The Duke?” Lance repeated.

She was calling for Lance to hide when Mack opened the door and presented the man. Lance was forced to hide under Bobbi’s robe, the one that was nearly transparent. Her slow, seductive tone resurfaced as she spoke to the Duke, walking closer to the cart so that Lance could find a proper hiding spot while she dealt with the other two men. Mack announced that he would leave the two together, one less man for Bobbi to deal with.

Bobbi and the Duke struck up conversation, he offering her a kiss on the hand. “A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,” he recited the line from her song.

“-  but diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” She finished for him.

Lance was now hiding safely behind the cart, the cart the Duke was walking towards. When he offered Bobbi a drink, she shrieked and told him to look at the view instead.

Her plan did not work as well as she had hoped, leaving her to twirl her robe about her body as if she were dancing in an attempt to distract the man. When he reached again for the champagne, she began to recite the same few lines Lance had recited to her.

“It’s a little bit funny..”

With the Duke facing towards her, Lance stuck his head up to cue Bobbi on the right words. The plan worked until Lance dropped something and Bobbi was forced to run at the Duke to cover up the noise. Now with only the Duke’s body separating Lance from Bobbi, she gestured for Lance to get out of the room while she kept him busy.

Lance inched towards the door as Bobbi sang to the Duke the same song Lance had given to her. His eyes seemed to sparkle, mesmerized by the few little lines.

“It’s from _Spectacular, Spectacular!_ ” She told him.

It was Lance’s chance to escape, he neared the door, heard it creak as he pulled it open. He was halfway out when he noticed someone waiting in the hallway and promptly closed it, leaving himself inside the room. There was a loud noise, one that Bobbi was forced to improvise with.

While Lance hid his head under a thin red cloth close to the door, Bobbi was forced to lay herself on the bed and use the same act she had used on Lance nearly twenty minutes before. With the Duke on top of her, she continued to gesture for Lance to find a better spot to hide. Getting Lance out of the way, she announced that they should wait until opening night, and promptly began to push the Duke towards the door. She had no desire to seducing him that night, or ever.

He was out the door and Bobbi was yelling at Lance to get out. There were beads of sweat dripping off her face, her eyes beginning to roll back in her head. Whatever had ailed her during her performance that evening had come back. Lance panicked as her unconscious body fell into his arms. He called her name, trying to jostle her awake. Eventually he set her on the bed, losing his balance and falling on top of her as he did so.

The Duke returned, saying he forgot his hat, to see Lance over top of Bobbi, who had regained consciousness. Bobbi showed Lance off as the writer, saying that they were rehearsing.

Fitz, who had been watching the scene for awhile now, stepped in from the balcony. “How is the rehearsal going?” He asked. He moved further into the room, followed by Jemma and Triplett. Trip found a piano, Jemma looked over to Bobbi and smiled. Fitz hit Lance with the cane he was holding just for the hell of it.

The Duke asked for Mack, saying if they were rehearsing he should be there. Almost on cue, he entered the room to witness the frenzy firsthand.

“Ah, Mack. So glad you could join us for the _emergency rehearsal_.” Bobbi told him, narrowing her eyes until he got the point she was trying to get across.

“Right, emergency rehearsal!”  

Everyone began to talk in fast tongues, and Mack was inviting the Duke back to his office when he asked what the story was.

Mack looked to Bobbi who looked to Lance. Lance looked at Fitz who looked to both Jemma and Trip. No one had the slightest idea. Mack turned the attention on Fitz, who began to fiddle with his hands and speak the same words over and over, “The story is about, well it’s about..”

“It’s about love.”

All heads turned to Lance.

“Love?” The Duke seemed unimpressed.

Lance restated his previous statement, saying it was about love overcoming all obstacles. Fitz jumped in to say it was set in Switzerland. With a look around the room, Lance countered this and said it was set in India.

Thus, the story of _Spectacular, Spectacular!_ began to come to life.

With Trip at the piano, the five others began to tell the tale for the Duke. It would be about a courtesan forced to seduce an evil maharaja after he invaded her kingdom. Though, she will come to fall in love with a penniless sitar player on the night she is to seduce the maharaja. Lance found a sitar and quickly grabbed it, though Jemma took it from him.

“I will play the sitar player,” she said, a smile stretched across her face.

“What happens next?”

Lance stepped forward, “The sitar player and the courtesan are forced to hide their love-”

“- the sitar is magical, it can only speak the truth.” Trip left the piano to provide his one line of insight.

Fitz announced he would play the sitar, beginning to speak his opinions of those in the room. He was quickly silenced when he came to the Duke.

“That’s what gives their love away!” The Duke added.

All cheered for him.

Mack started them out, shouting praises for the play that they were plotting on the spot.

“So exciting, the audience will stomp and cheer -”

“- so delighting, it will run for fifty years!”

They used props from around the room to pitch their idea to the Duke. Lance announced that the love between the courtesan and the sitar player would prevail.  Eventually Mack announced that he would play the evil maharaja, a delight for Bobbi. They said the audience would laugh and cry, leading up to the Duke’s comment.

“And in the end should someone die?” He asked. They all looked to one another, smiling before finishing up the pitch in an array of color and impromptu scenery.

“Generally, I like it.” Said the Duke when all was said and done, receiving cheers from the performers. He would be willing to invest.

  
Lance left that night, happier than he had been in a long time.


	4. Elepehant Love Medley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a many splendored thing

Above Lance’s room in the rundown hotel, sounds of laughter and music were heard. The Bohemian group had themselves a show and they intended to celebrate that. A soirée was thrown per their request. Fitz opened up a bottle of something labeled with a green fairy; it probably wasn’t the safest thing to drink, but at that moment in time he didn’t care. Ward slept through most of the party and Trip supplied musical stylings here and there. Jemma gushed about Bobbi to all that she encountered.

While the party raged on above him, Lance tried in vain to write. His thoughts were subsided, however, by memories of the woman he had met some odd hours before. His thoughts were only of Bobbi, and he hoped that her thoughts were only of him.

He sat on the windowsill, eyes watching the elephant across the way for any sign of her. More than once he thought he caught a glimpse of her, but it was only his mind playing a cruel trick on him. From where he sat, the Moulin Rouge shone brightly, capturing his attention more than once. Music sounded from below as well as above, snapping his concentration when he settled his eyes back on the elephant. Growing tired of waiting for something to occur, he retreated back into his mess of a room and took a seat at his desk. His fingers ran across the keys of his typewriter, but still words were not produced. He had lost his muse to memories of the Mockingbird.

It was almost ironic; Lance believed her to be his muse, though with her in his mind he was lost.

 

In the elephant across the way, Bobbi sat alone. The room had lost its glow from before, now being plunged into a sort of darkness. She sat in front of the mirror dressed in a long red dress and the majority of her blonde hair was pinned back. Her eyes kept watch over her reflection in the glass, though her thoughts strayed. She could hear his voice as he talked about love, as he pretended to be the Duke. She bit down on her lower lip, cursing herself for buying into his tricks. She had told him that she loved him, and knew her feigned words would only come back to haunt her.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Bobbi took a final look at her reflection before standing herself up to walk about the disorderly room. Though the light was dim, she had little trouble navigating herself to the open space. From there she could see the city, but also the image of Lance alone in his room. Eyes closed, she said to herself, “One day I’ll fly away.”

It wasn’t some silly line because the people called her the Mockingbird, she meant it. She wished to be whisked away from her life as a showgirl, as somebody’s plaything. She wanted to be a proper actress on a stage or on the screen. Bobbi wanted to leave the Mockingbird and the Moulin Rouge behind her. She was ready to live again.

That life would become nothing more than a memory.

Her eyes wandered, searching in vain for something other than Lance to look at. While she looked to the west, she could feel his gaze on her. When she turned her head to stare past the open window, Lance would look away from her.

Eventually the game grew too complicated for both of them. Lance watched her, hands still on the keys of his typewriter. He watched her moving her lips, but could not make out what she was saying. As if in a trance, he stood from his desk and moved back to the open window. His own mouth opened, uttering words of folly. A smile crept over his face; he knew she could see him.

The smile began to fade, however, as Lance watched the woman in red walk back into the dark lit room.

The moment between them had passed.

Bobbi found the steps that led to the top of the elephant, seeing now that Lance had disappeared back into his room. She couldn’t see him from where she stood. With a smile on her face, she continued up the stairs until she was standing on a flat area on top of the elephant. The evening wind was cool on her exposed shoulders, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was the first moment she truly had had to herself in a long time. Up there, she was free of distraction and ailment and fret. She noticed a flock of birds illuminated by the moon.

It was her turn to join them.

Little did she know that the reason she had lost sight of Lance was because he had left his room in pursuit of her. He currently stood at the base of the elephant, catching little glimpses of her when he looked up. He circled the bottom until he found something that would take him to the top. He only wished to be with her.

His method of reaching her was a rope that looked to be the elephant’s tail. Lance certainly wasn’t graceful as he made his climb, losing his footing once or twice.

Bobbi was still lost in her own words when Lance made it to the top. She was seated on the step leading to the golden-arched gazebo that too was placed on top of the elephant. Her back was to Lance, who kept his head low. All had grown silent when he finally stood up and began to walk over to her, keeping steady against one of the sides to the golden gazebo. He managed about ten seconds, a dopey grin on his face, before he was detected.

“Wha -” Bobbi managed to get out before Lance was apologizing over and over again. She stood up, mouth opened, and gave almost a shriek.

“Look, I didn’t mean -”

“How did you get up here?”

“I climbed the tail.”

“You did what?” Bobbi was looking at him now, her mouth opened and face flushed red. She held up a finger to cover her lips, but quickly put it back at her side. Her hand was balled in a fist.

“Your light was on and I figured - I couldn’t sleep and so..” He was babbling, not being able to keep his words straight. All the while he was forced to watch the expression on her face to settle into one that hinted at anger. “I wanted to thank you.. for helping me get the job.”

The anger began to subside on her face, “Oh, of course.” Her composure was regained and she began to speak again. “Fitz might have been right about you; you’re very talented.” Her voice became more pained towards the end as she watched his eyes light up at her praise. “It’s going to be a great show. But I should - I should get going. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

He held out a hand to stop her, though she was too far from his grasp. “Wait.”

It took a lot out of her to stay, but she did. Bobbi looked on him, trying to keep the agitation from showing on her face as Lance opened his mouth again. “Earlier, when you thought I was the Duke, you said you loved me -”

Bobbi turned away momentarily, biting down on her lip. She should have guessed that this was what he had come to ask her about. “And you were wondering if I really meant it?” She finished for him, now looking back on him.

Lance gave a nod, “I guess it just felt real.”

Bobbi began to walk towards him, “Lance, I’m a courtesan. My job is to make men believe what they want to believe. In your case, it was that I was in love with you.”

“Because why should you fall in love with someone like me?” He kept the bitter words at bay, not venturing farther out than what he had said to her. Names of malice and spite came to mind, but he didn’t have it in him to utter them aloud.

She gave a laugh, one that sounded almost forced, and looked to her feet, “I can’t fall in love with anyone.”

Lance didn’t like this answer, “A life without love? That’s terrible.” It may have been a bit over the top, but he was genuinely taken aback.

“No,” Bobbi countered, “a life on the streets is terrible.”

“Love is like oxygen!”

“What?”

Lance felt his words getting more ridiculous each time he opened his mouth, but it was a topic he was so passionate about (even if he had never been in love). “Love is a many splendored thing; love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love.”

In that instance, Bobbi wanted to laugh at him. Instead she said, “Please don’t start that again.”

They bickered back and forth, Lance moving closer to her every time she countered his “ _all you need is love_ ” line.

“Love is just a game.” She told him, beginning to walk away from the man with the eager smile.

Then it began, the two of them locked in a sort of dance around the top of the elephant. Everytime Lance would speak, Bobbi would counter. She would make a comment about money and wealth, saying that it was the only way to ensure her love. Lance was much more imaginative.

“You’re a fool, Lance. I won’t give into you.”

He didn’t know how it happened, but his hand was on her cheek, the other moving up to hold her neck. He was ready to bring his lips to hers when she broke away. This didn’t faze him. With just as much energy as before he jumped to the head of the elephant, where a blue dome stuck out. Bobbi was yelling at him to get down; he ignored her. Extending both arms out, he took in the city. She reached for him, her hand grabbing his wrist.

“Love makes us act like we are fools.” She told him, a little smile on her face once she had gotten him down. “We think we can just throw our lives away for one happy day. It doesn’t work like that, Lance.”

Arms out in exasperation, Lance countered with, “We could be heroes, just for one day.”

Bobbi began to make the descent down the staircase into the room she had come from. She argued that he would be mean, and that she’d only drink all of the time. Lance stuck to his principle that they should be _lovers_.

“Though nothing will keep us together.”

A change occurred between them following that. Bobbi drifted towards him, and they found themselves in a sort of harmony. Just for one day, perhaps they could pull it off.

Bobbi thought to herself how wonderful life was, now that the mysterious writer had entered into her world. When he leaned in to kiss her, she did not object. Before their lips met, she said to him, “You’re going to be bad for business. I can tell.”

Nevertheless, she leaned into the kiss and it was as if the entire city lit up just for them.

 

(Across from them, Fitz sat on the windowsill of his room with tears in his eyes. He had observed what had passed between Lance and Bobbi and saw how wonderful life was.)

 

While Lance and Bobbi spoke of how wonderful life was, Mack and the Duke met. The Duke had come up with a contract that would bind Bobbi to him exclusively and that he would acquire the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.

Mack tried to protest this, but was silenced.

“Do not think me naïve, Mackenzie. I shall acquire the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, and if there are any shenanigans I shall have my man-servant take care of them.” His expression told Mack that the servant’s methods would not be conventional. The Duke then had another outburst, yelling about how he didn’t like other people touching his things.

Taken aback, Mack could only say, “I understand completely.”

 

And so, Bobbi was bound exclusively to the Duke and the Moulin Rouge was transformed into a theater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this took so long to update. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with it.


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